Salamanders (of the Amazonian Variety)
by StarlightSkies18
Summary: Newt and Tina have a lot to reconcile after the events of Paris. And they begin to - slowly, and ever so surely. (Or: I was really salty that we never got to see Newt give Tina his book and decided to do something about it.) Find it on AO3 under the same title.


The visit was long overdue.

Perhaps that was why, Tina considered, she found herself suppressing the tremors that ran through her arm as she raised her hand to knock on the door of Newt's flat.

She recalled their parting several months prior, after his meeting with Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had been hasty; after all, with no one else to help Jacob get back to New York (and his bakery), the whole party had agreed that it was necessary they part ways.

At least for the time being, that was. With Grindelwald still on the loose and the world seemingly on the brink of magical (and perhaps worse: non-magical) chaos, there had been no doubt in her mind that their paths would be thrown together again before too long. After all, Queenie was still out there. Grindelwald had seen their faces. No one would be able to rest until everything was put right, if that was still possible.

Before she had apparated with Jacob to the Ministry where they could catch a fireplace to MACUSA, Newt had stopped her, the gentleness (and exhaustion) in his expression mirroring the tentative, warm hand laid on her arm as she had turned to face him.

"Tina," he had tried, before faltering.

She had understood: there was too much to say, and yet, somehow, not enough.

He had closed his mouth then, instead proffering the embossed, suede-backed volume that was tucked under his arm. She had held it gently, like one of his many creatures, tracing one gloved finger over the ridges that formed the title lettering: _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, by Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.

_Had his name always been that beautiful?_

"I hope you enjoy it, even if it is a bit overdue." One of his hands had lingered on hers momentarily as he handed over the tome, and her breath had stuttered. "And I know it's a bit…well, a bit much to ask. I expect you'll be busy," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "But if you've any time at all to write, I'd…I'd like to get back to where we left off. Very much."

"I – of course I'll write to you. I'll visit, too! Um, if that's – if that's okay, of course," Tina had blurted out before stopping herself, her cheeks pinking. It had been a bit too forward, perhaps, and she had hastily prepared to amend her statement, but Newt had allayed her momentary fears.

"That would be more than okay. Brilliant, even," he had said, and with one last hesitant smile he had turned to leave before stopping in his tracks, and looking back at her. "And…Tina, read it…when you're ready." He had pursed his lips momentarily, before adding, "The title page too, if you would."

Her curiosity piqued, she had felt the i_why?_/i forming on her tongue, her brow creasing in the presence of such deliberate ambiguity. It wasn't as if she hadn't read it before, after all. But before she could make out the words, he had already gone, disapparating in a swirl of gray-blue woolen overcoat.

_Well_.

Perhaps the book would shed a bit of light on the enigma.

As it turned out, she had neither found answers nor anything remotely resembling clarification – they were difficult to come by when she hadn't even read the volume itself. It wasn't that she didn't want to (the exact opposite, really), but it had been nearly forgotten among the million and one obligations that dogged her steps the instant she arrived back in New York. The book with its beautiful deep teal cover and gold leaf pages capped by metal-plated corners had sat on her bedside table, and she had reached for it every night, eager to enjoy a copy from the man who lingered too long in her mind with each day that passed. But no sooner had she gotten to the copyright page before she awoke the next morning with it still folded gently open in her lap, unintentionally abandoned the night before in favor of what little sleep she could get.

It was now tucked into her suitcase, folded carefully among her blouses. Almost as carefully as she had tried to stow away the _yearning_ that had nestled its way back into her heart at the prospect of going to see him.

The truth of the matter was that she didn't know how things stood between them. Tina was clear on her own feelings; of that much, she was certain. What had probably been something of a crush born out of a burgeoning friendship had been soured by his passionate and very vocal distaste for Aurors. She couldn't lie: she had been hurt by the bluntness of his tirade against them. Knowing Newt, it had not been intended to wound. It was likely that, in his frustration with the Ministry, he had forgotten that _she_ was an auror, too. Or even if not, he had perhaps forgotten that all aurors weren't alike, nor were the magical institutions which governed them. She had stopped writing which, at the time, had seemed the thing to do. Not seeing him again – both to avoid confronting the awkwardness of the situation that she had placed them into, as well as her own very complex and troublesome feelings for him – would be for the best, she had determined.

But the wounded, tender place in her heart had only grown softer upon meeting him in Paris.

Tina had told herself to forget him, that the chances of seeing him again were next to zero after her epistolary absence, but _oh _it was difficult when she finally did. There was a magnetism to Newt, an attraction so strong on her end that it was impossible to ignore when he was present; being apart had only worsened the matter, it seemed. Any hope she'd had of quashing her feelings was thoroughly abandoned in favor of merely trying to keep them from spilling over. Queenie had said, half in jest one night soon after Newt had left New York, _if I didn't know you better, Teenie, I'd say you were stuck on that Mister Scamander_. And she was right.

It had culminated in another almost-_something_ at the French Ministry, but what that something was she still didn't know. The more she thought about those almost-somethings they had shared, the murkier things became. If she thought hard enough, Tina could still feel the brush of his slender fingers against her cheek as he tucked a few wayward hairs back into place at the New York harbor, a startlingly intimate (yet undeniably welcome) gesture from a man whom she'd known for all of several days.

_Does Leta Lestrange like to read?_

_Who? _

_The girl whose picture you carry._ A pause.

_Er, I don't _– _I don't really know what Leta likes these days, you see...because people change._ Another pause.

_I've changed, I think. Maybe a little_.

Queenie had tried time and again to tell her that she couldn't logic her way out of romance during those long, restless nights she spent burdened with thoughts of Newt, but they both knew she would try anyway. Queenie, who never hesitated to go after what she wanted, even if it meant leaving the people who loved her, bewitched by the treacherous, snakelike words of a lunatic. Queenie, who in a perfect world would be happily married to Jacob by now and starting a family. If there were any certainties in life, Tina thought, their love ought to be one of them.

But what of her own?

Tina had resignedly accepted the nature of her feelings upon seeing Newt again; there had been no point in denying what was painfully obvious, even to her. If it wasn't love she felt for him, it wasn't far off the mark. But Newt himself? There had been moments that felt different, full of something unmistakably more than friendship; of that she was also certain. As to the depth of his feelings, though, she was still unsure. In Paris, he had looked as if he'd wanted to say more before they had been found out.

_Salamander eyes. Like fire in dark water__._

The recollection of his expression, earnest and unsure, and the ardent verity that spoke from his soul, deep within his sea-blue eyes, was enough to send a shiver down Tina's spine. A good shiver. Or, a promising one, at least. The moment between them had seemed to stretch on forever, and she had anxiously awaited what else he might say, her heart pounding fiercely.

Chaos had descended before he could say any more, though, and once again Tina was left grasping for an answer. She had carried that uncertainty with her through all of the trials that followed: Queenie's desertion, Leta's death, Grindelwald's slow but steady rise to power. Even now, standing on Newt's doorstep, a sliver of doubt was present among the jitters and furious excitement that filled her, as thin and unassuming as a shard of shrapnel.

What if he didn't feel the same way, after all they had been through?

_Porpentina Goldstein, you stop that right now_, she berated herself, tucking her chin to her chest. _No matter what, the most important thing is your friendship. And if he likes it the way it is, then that's the end of that_.

Right. First and foremost, Newt Scamander was her friend. Not much had changed in the intercourse of their letters, aside from a bit more opening up on his end. He was still in pain from Leta's death; that much was clear to her, and Tina refused to aggravate that wound any more than necessary. If they were to talk at all, about any of it, they would talk when the time was right and not before.

She raised her knuckles to the door, and rapped three times.

After a very long minute, there was no answer. Tina frowned.

She knocked again, noting the light illuminating windows of the front room. He was likely home. Perhaps with his creatures? He'd mentioned keeping more of them than those that she had met, but hadn't said where.

The other possibility was that he was not, in fact, at home. She had known it was a bit dicey arriving a full day earlier than planned, but it hadn't seemed like much help to send an owl when she had arrived at the Ministry offices two hours earlier. To her dismay, the previous day she had been informed that the MACUSA fireplaces were to be cleaned a week ahead of schedule, which unhappily coincided with her travel plans. Taking into account the extreme paucity of fireplaces connected to the International Floo Network, Tina had made the snap decision to advance her travel plans. After finishing her frantic packing that morning, she had hauled her suitcase to MACUSA and hopped a twelve o'clock fireplace to the Ministry of Magic, praying that Newt would be amenable to the sudden change.

_O__fficially_, she was in England to negotiate with the British Ministry of Magic's Auror Office regarding a trans-Atlantic task force dedicated to the detection and re-capture of Grindelwald. The President had sent the request to Tina's desk herself, citing her original role in his capture as sufficient evidence that she was equipped for the task – or at least the task force. The Ministries of France and Britain had readily agreed to the collaboration, as all three nations were now involved in pursuing him.

Off the record, however, Newt was one hundred percent of the reason for her trans-Atlantic voyage.

And still, he failed to open the door. Tina took half a step back, lifting a hand to her lips in thought. Rather than risk being rude, perhaps it would be best to find a hotel, or an inn, or—

Who was she trying to fool? She didn't know the first thing about wizarding accommodations in Britain, let alone the sleepy London street that housed Newt's flat. It wasn't that much different from America, if she was being perfectly honest. There was still a Statute of Secrecy, so it wasn't as if magical establishments went around advertising themselves all willy-nilly. The alternative, though, was entering Newt Scamander's home unbidden and unannounced, which simply wouldn't do, be it in England or America.

As if in answer to her conundrum, however, the door in front of her gave a faint squeal of protest before swinging inward and allowing a trickle of golden light to fall onto the doorstep, tacitly inviting her to enter.

Tina hesitated for a moment, but groped for the handle of her suitcase and made her way haltingly inside. The hall was dark, but the front room was dimly lit by several oil lamps, their wicks burning low and gentle. She put a hand on the door and carefully pushed it closed, feeling a bit like a burglar as it shut with a _click_.

She set her suitcase by the front door as quietly as she could manage, wincing as it settled heavily upon its brass feet with a sharp clunking sound. In another feat of daring assumption (which seemed to be the common theme that day, Tina noted wryly), she pulled off her overcoat and hat, resting them gingerly on the coat rack by the door.

"Newt?" Tina tried calling out softly, but received no answer. She took several faltering steps forward before letting out her pent-up breath; a door, left slightly ajar, was visible down the corridor. As she approached, she began to make out the muffled (if unmistakable) sound of creatures. _Newt's creatures_, she thought, and as she passed through the barrier of the muffling charm, Tina could make out his voice here and there amid the cacophony of fantastical beasts.

_Newt_.

"Dougal, leave them alone. Yes, I _know_ they're undergoing puberty, thank you very much. I'd think that would make you want to keep your distance." A raucous chittering answered him, and Tina could make out his huff of disbelief. "Go bother Rosamund instead, she'd be glad of the company. No – don't look at me that way, it's for your own good."

Her low heels creaked on the wooden treads as she began to descend, and she was grateful for the unceremonious announcement of her presence. She chanced a look over the railing, eyes scanning the room for him.

_At least I'm not sneaking up on him in his own home. Not quite._

And all of a sudden there he was, just as tall and lanky and studiously engrossed in relieving the pail in front of him of whatever shimmering liquid was collected there as he had been so many months prior. Her heart felt as if it was being levitated right out of her chest as she took him in: the same shock of messy brown hair, perhaps grown a bit longer; the same freckles adorning his nose and cheekbones; the same expression, partly bemused and partly in awe as he continued to study his creatures, finding his way toward exciting new discoveries every day.

"Terribly sorry," Newt said without looking up, clearly aware that someone had come to call. "But I'm a bit busy at the moment. If you'll just wait upstairs, I'll be with you shortly."

Tina coughed, and the sound caused him to straighten, his hands stilling, though his gaze was still trained on the table in front of him.

"Um," she said, not quite knowing where to begin. "Hello, Newt."

"_Tina_."

His voice was soft, almost reverent, and only after several very long moments did he finally look up at her.

A quiet sort of joy was etched into his expression along with a lingering hint of disbelief, as if he couldn't entirely fathom her presence there. The moment passed, though, all too quickly.

"Good heavens," he said, looking stricken. Tina felt a pang of guilt flash through her chest at his sudden and obvious distress as he nearly dropped the pail he was holding. "Have I got the dates wrong? I was so sure it wasn't until Sunday—"

"—I came a day early. Um. Sorry," Tina interrupted him before he could go any further, slowly beginning to descend the cellar steps. "The fireplaces were going to be cleaned tomorrow, and strictly speaking I am using them on official MACUSA business, so I thought…it would be best if I came today. The door – your door – it just sort of opened, so I thought...I hope you don't mind," she added, biting her lip pensively. Poor Newt. He looked distinctly upset at the idea of being a poor host.

He shook his head, and shifted awkwardly on his feet. "It's no trouble. Just – just give me a few moments to freshen up?" It was posed as a request, but in truth sounded more of a statement to Tina's ears. Newt seemed unusually tired, and she got the sudden and distinct impression that perhaps she had interrupted something – though what that something was she wasn't entirely sure.

"Of course! I'm the one who – I should have sent an owl when I got to the Ministry. I'm so sorry," Tina said quickly, inwardly cursing herself for her lack of foresight. However, Newt shook his head, offering her a small smile.

"No, Tina, please don't be. I'm glad you're here," he said, trading the empty pail from one hand to another, and his words sent a magnificent thrill down her spine that she tried her hardest to conceal. "I won't be long, I promise. In the meantime, please – come upstairs and make yourself comfortable, won't you?"

Her frazzled nerves (and conscience) were slightly soothed by his words and she stepped back, ready to let him pass so that he could ascend the basement steps first. Curiously enough, he made no motion to do so. Tina frowned.

"Weren't you going to—?"

A beat.

"Oh. Er, yes I was, wasn't I?"

And yet, he still didn't budge.

"Why don't you go on ahead? I still have," he paused, a funny shudder working its way through him. "I still have a few things to – to take care of down here. Don't worry about me," Newt continued, as if nothing had happened, and Tina frowned, perplexed.

"Um. Well, if you insist." She started back up the steps and made it halfway to the first landing, when she turned and looked down at him. "By the way, Newt…" she began, and her eyes found his figure, which was now turned away from her and stretched awkwardly, attempting to reach something on one of the shelves above a workbench. The sight was endearing, she had to admit, and Tina felt her lips curve into a smile, unbidden.

That was, until she saw the angry, red claw marks that raked their way down his back, and her smile faltered.

"_Newt_," she breathed, feeling all of the air leave her lungs momentarily. She almost tripped before her feet caught back up with her brain, and she scrambled down the stairs she had ascended only seconds before.

"Oh – this? This…it's nothing," he replied hastily and stepped backward, clearly making an effort to keep the front of his torso angled toward her.

"Newt," Tina said again, a note of concerned disbelief creeping into her voice. "It is most certainly _not_ nothing! Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

"Because I'm not. That is," he said, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly out of habit, and flinching when the fluid pull of muscle beneath skin caused the cuts to twinge. "I mean, I'm not badly hurt. I've seen worse."

If he thought his attempts to ameliorate the situation were working, Tina thought drily, they most certainly were not.

"Maybe," she replied, hovering uncertainly by him. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're hurt right now. What happened?"

He sidestepped the question with little difficulty, avoiding her eyes as he crossed the room. "Tina, I'm a Magizoologist. It's – it's part of the job, I suppose. Sometimes even my creatures have their bad days. I was just caught by surprise, that's all."

"And Bunty? Shouldn't she have—?" Tina tried with immense difficulty to keep the accusatory tone from her voice, but her ire was slightly lessened when he shook his head.

"No – ah, no. Took the night off. I asked her to," Newt managed, wincing as he settled himself gingerly upon a wayward rickety-looking chair. He leaned forward to loosen his galoshes, and the cuts that split his skin were thrown into sharp relief through the tears in his shirt.

"What did this?" Tina pressed, willing her voice not to quaver as she stepped forward to inspect the damage. Relief flooded through her: whatever it was had cut deep, but not so deep as to severely wound, it seemed.

"Hippogriff. Young female," Newt replied, a half-groan audible as he straightened and tossed the galoshes feebly to the side, leaving him in stocking feet. "I recently rescued her from a trap – Muggles," he added, brushing tangled curls from his face as he turned. He met Tina's eyes at last and held the contact for a moment before looking away quickly. She felt color flood her cheeks, but strove to ignore it as her attention returned to the gashes adorning his torso.

"She's still scared, poor thing. I wanted to take a look at her wounds, and she was fine until I went to fix up her wings," Newt continued, his gaze having fallen to his lap where his hands were laced together. "On the whole, I think I ended up a bit worse than she did, but I'll try again tomorrow."

The quip was meant to bring a bit of levity back into the air, Tina supposed, but his white knuckles and quickened breathing told her all she needed to know. She moved to stand in front of him, and folded her arms.

"Shirt. Off," she commanded, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers once more.

"What are you—?"

"Off. I can't get at those cuts until it's gone," Tina said firmly, hoping that the sternness she tried to school into her expression was evident enough.

Newt fidgeted slightly in his chair, frowning at her. "You don't have to help me, you know—"

"—and I'm doing it anyway, so tell me what to do."

Tina hoped she sounded more sure of herself than she felt. In spite of all of the basic medical training MACUSA Aurors received, it had never felt like enough. Not with how much she hated the sight of blood.

After several long moments, he conceded defeat, slumping with a sigh.

"Very well." A pause, and then: "You would think I'd know by now that I can't argue with you," he said, mouth twitching into a half-smile.

The warmth in his expression mimicked the warmth that enveloped Tina's chest as she caught his smile, and she exhaled slowly, willing herself not to get too distracted. Butterflies later. He was still hurt.

"I'd advise against it, anyway," she said at last, trying her hardest to keep a straight face. "If you have a tub, or even a wash basin, we can try to get the worst of the dirt out before applying – um, you do have Murtlap Essence, don't you?"

"I do," Newt replied, arching a brow under his tousled bangs. "There is a Murtlap residing here, after all. He's more than happy to part with his growth every so often, provided I keep feeding him."

"Look, I don't know what's involved in – in _pickling_ Murtlap tentacles," Tina said over her shoulder as she made her way toward the cupboards that lined one section of wall above the workbench. The brief flicker of amusement across his expression was not lost on her.

"Three shelves up. Second bottle to the right," came Newt's voice, and she found it easily enough. The bottle of bright yellow liquid was stoppered with a thick cork, and stood out easily even among all of the other vials and solutions present. It took her a moment of teetering on her tip-toes to reach it, but at last she felt her hand close around the cold glass of the bottle neck.

When she turned, she found Newt watching her closely.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied, a small smile still gracing his lips. "I was just thinking that – well, it's lucky that you're tall, I suppose. Rather, I'm lucky that you're tall," he amended, and the warmth that had enveloped Tina's chest earlier only grew steadily warmer. If she didn't know better, it almost sounded like he….

Well. Never mind that, for the moment.

"You have no idea what it was like growing up," she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes skyward. "'Tina, do this,' 'Tina, do that.' It's enough to drive a girl crazy, especially with a sister like—"

She stopped short, a painful _something_ puncturing the balloon of happiness that had risen inside her ribcage. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe and Newt, apparently sensing her distress, said softly, "There's a bowl for the Murtlap Essence in the cupboard below my workbench."

Tina willed her brain to kick back into gear, and she forced herself to answer him. "Right. Um, any chance of a cloth, or…?"

"There should be a few fresh ones lying about somewhere by the wash basin," Newt said, before adding: "The basin itself should be close by. Try next to the cupboard."

The bowl, cloth, and basin were precisely where he had directed her. After a few more minutes of muffled curses, some spillage, and timely wand work, a bowl of Murtlap Essence, several Scourgified rags, and a basin of steaming water were laid side-by-side on the worktable.

When she turned to look at him again, Newt was very much divested of his shirt, the shreds of which he had draped on the chair back behind him.

_Mercy Lewis_.

It was only now beginning to dawn on Tina exactly how close she was about to be to Newt as she unsteadily hefted the tub of water over to where he sat, summoning the cloths with a flick of her wand. Her heart had begun to pound once more, but she clenched her fists momentarily in an effort to stop the tremors that belied her nervousness.

His shoulders were slightly hunched forward and she could make out an air of discomfort in the tense curve of his spine, though whether it was from being partly unclothed or in pain she wasn't entirely sure. Should anyone have found them, it wasn't exactly the most proper situation they could have been in, she supposed. Ever the gentleman, he tried to shift so that mainly his back was towards her, and Tina could make out a faint flush creeping across his ears and down his neck. Her eyes wandered over the constellations of freckles that dappled his shoulders and upper arms. She took in the numerous scars (big ones, small ones, ones that looked suspiciously like Murtlap bites) and several poorly-healed burn marks, and for a moment she lost sight of the task at hand before Newt cleared his throat.

"Tina, are you—?"

"Oh, yes! Right. Um. Sorry," she muttered, her face reddening, before she bent down to immerse one of the rags in warm water. "And I'm sorry that this...will probably hurt," she added, reaching up with damp fingers to brush a few loose hairs from her face.

Newt made no reply, but Tina could tell as she pressed the cloth to the angry red welts on his back that he was trying his hardest not to pull away from the contact, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched it. It took most of her own effort not to shy away from the task as she took in the rapidly-drying blood she knew she would have to mop up.

"Are you okay?" she asked after a long moment of holding the cloth in place, not wanting to continue before he was reasonably comfortable.

"Fine. I'm fine," he said slowly, beginning to relax against her hand. Tina took that as a sign to continue, and for several minutes no words were exchanged between them (save for an occasional sharp intake of breath or murmured appreciation from Newt) as she worked out all of the dirt she could find, trying her hardest not to think for too long about the expanse of his bare, marred, _beautiful_ skin before her. Finally, Newt broke the silence, and she could feel a certain telltale discomfort in his movements as he shifted.

"Erm, I've been meaning to ask," he began, and Tina could swear there was a slightly nervous edge to his voice. "How did you like the book? I did add a few...er, notes and addendums, you see, so…."

Tina felt her heart sink all the way down to her toes as she knelt beside him, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Newt! I'm so sorry, I didn't get the chance to open it yet. I'd been meaning to every day since you gave it to me, it's just...well, with Jacob kind of a mess, and—" she broke off, faltering for a moment. _And Queenie still under Grindelwald's spell_, her mind supplied unhelpfully, but she found that she couldn't bring herself to say the words. It was still too much.

"No, forgive me – it was a rather selfish hope that you'd found the time." Newt looked over one shoulder to meet her eyes, and where she expected disappointment, she found only empathy and understanding in the deep, calming blue of his irises. "I know you must have been terribly busy."

"Between Jacob and MACUSA, I feel like I've been stretched a little too thin," Tina confessed with a sigh. "Raids almost every night, what with those lunatics coming out of the woodwork now that Grindelwald got away again...and it's up to me to keep Jacob safe now. He's afraid, and he should be," she said, unable to help the bitterness that crept into her tone. "I wouldn't want to be a No-Maj any more than I'd want to be a witch in the middle of this mess."

"We'll find her. We'll find Queenie," Newt said suddenly, turning to look straight at her. "And we'll put this right, Tina. We will." There was a fierceness, an intensity in his words that gave her heart a painful (yet all too welcome) squeeze, and she wanted oh, i_so_/i desperately to believe him. If he was wrong and they didn't manage to bring Queenie back, the consequences were too unbearable to even give thought to.

"Newt…." Tina trailed off, at a loss for words in the face of this rare, impassioned side of him. "Thank you," she said finally, looking down at the cloth clutched tightly in her white-knuckled hand and then back up at him. The moment hung between them, and she found that remembering how to breathe was becoming increasingly difficult. If she leaned forward, even just a bit, they would be—

He jerked backward suddenly, putting a sizeable distance between them. Tina tried her hardest not to allow her disappointment to show as she got to her feet and made her way back to his workbench for the bowl of Murtlap Essence. Another almost-something, and yet still _nothing_.

_You could just tell him, you know,_ a small voice said, from some dark, distant corner of her mind. _What's the worst that could happen_? _Even if he rejects you_?

But therein lay the problem: when it really came right down to it, Tina just wasn't sure she could handle his rejection on top of it all.

Her hands quivered with pent-up emotion, and she took several deep breaths to steady herself, not wanting to drop the bowl.

Though Tina's mind raced, she couldn't think of anything to say as she gently dabbed at the cuts with the yellow concoction. To her immense relief, they began to heal over almost immediately, the inflamed, crimson lines fading as the skin knit back together. Newt let out a lingering sigh of relief, and the fingers that had been twisted into the fabric of his trousers loosened fractionally.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, much." Newt was still hunched forward, but the tension had begun to work its way out of his brow, and Tina realized only then that some color was beginning to return to his unusually pale complexion; a testament, she supposed, to the severity of the injury. He had tried to cover up the pain for her sake, most likely, not wanting to cause her concern in typical Newt fashion.

Tina continued to inundate the rapidly healing skin with solution for another few minutes, and it seemed as if the prior awkwardness between them was beginning to dissipate at last. Finally, she rose to her feet and returned to the worktable.

"There. That's that done." She set down the bowl of Murtlap Essence on the counter, and nudged the tap on with an elbow to rinse the yellow mixture from her hands. "You might want to think about applying some Essence of Dittany later to keep it from scarring too badly, but otherwise I think you'll be fine."

There was a long moment of quiet, before Newt said, "I suppose I ought to thank you, Tina. I would have been in a bit of a bind if you hadn't come along when you did."

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm sure you could have done just fine on your own," she replied easily, but felt a pleased smile flit across her lips, unbidden.

"Actually, I don't believe I could have. I can't ever seem to manage things quite as well as when you're around, you see," he said softly, and after a long, tense moment Tina inhaled sharply. Upon hearing the sound, Newt seemed to realize exactly what he had said, and stood without warning. "I'll just – I'll just go finish cleaning up then, shall I?"

Clutching his shirt to him, Newt hurried up the basement steps, and Tina's heart sank with each tread his feet found.

To borrow his turn of phrase, _bugger_.

While Newt busied himself with tidying his appearance (including _properly_ scrubbing the talon marks in what sounded suspiciously like a hasty bath on the second floor), Tina returned to his sitting room upstairs, which he had apparently made sure to better illuminate on his way up. The oil lamps were burning a bit higher, and in the small fireplace on the center of the wall, a log fire was crackling merrily. The flat was cozy and inviting, she considered, hauling her suitcase into the room and welcoming the banked heat that washed over her. In one corner stood what she presumed to be his writing desk, where (what appeared to be) letters from fans and notes from his publisher were busy sorting themselves into piles, only to decide that they weren't satisfied with the arrangement and re-sorting themselves again. A feather quill (which looked suspiciously Hippogriff-like) was propped carefully to the side, its nib resting on a worn blotting cloth that was full of unusually blue stains, but this was no surprise to Tina. Newt penned all of his letters to her in beautiful teal ink, which stirred up memories of chasing after him and his ridiculous (_wonderful_, supplied her mind) greatcoat, its hems flapping in the gusts of wind that rattled the panes of the New York skyscrapers.

This particular shade of striking blue, she recalled, was the very same as the one that bound her copy of Newt's book. Struck by a very sudden and visceral urge, Tina stooped by her suitcase and, after a moment of fiddling with the latches, shook the volume free of her blouses. The sound of running water was still evident from the second story, and she could think of no other way to pass the time without feeling as if she was poking too far into his private life by inspecting every detail of his home.

His words rose to the surface of her mind, floating into her consciousness with all the delicacy and spontaneity of a Billywig: _And…Tina, read it…when you're ready._

Settling herself upon one of the well-loved couches that framed the center of the room, Tina gingerly placed the book on her lap and took care to open it from the outside in, smoothing the pages as she went so that the binding wouldn't crack.

_The title page too, if you would._

_So be it_, she thought, carefully turning each page one at a time until at last she found it:

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newton Artemis Fido Scamander_ was emblazoned in bold lettering, and far below toward the bottom margin floated the Obscurus Books imprint, along with their seal. But what caught her eye was the middle of the page: several short lines in peacock blue stood out in the wide, white space between the neatly-set typeface. Tina searched briefly through the sentences with their familiar slant and haphazardly crossed T's, until she reached the final three words above his signature. Her eyes widened, and she took the pages in hand, shakily thumbing through their neatly alphabetized entries until she stopped on a likely-looking paragraph.

_A...Abarimon...Acromantula...Alizor of Westacottus...There it is!_

**A****MAZONIAN** **S****ALAMANDER**

_M.O.M. Classification: XXX_

Similar to its cousin, the Common Salamander, the Amazonian Salamander is a small lizard birthed from a fire, particularly one of magical origin. While the common Salamander's white skin can take on a blue or red hue depending on the heat of its fire, the Amazonian Salamander's skin is most commonly green (though they can manifest red skin occasionally, as well). Unlike its European relation, the Amazonian Salamander has the unique capability of being able to not only exist for long periods outside its fire (without the aid of pepper), but also to dwell in water for brief intervals without extinguishing itself. This amphibious nature is likely due to its rainforest habitat, which is significantly wetter than many other climates in which Salamanders are common. If one is lucky enough to encounter one of these Salamanders in the water (though caution should be strongly observed), the fortunate witch or wizard may be treated to the exceedingly rare and beautiful sight of the creature's firey skin glowing beneath the dark water. As with all other known Salamanders, Amazonian Salamanders live only as long as the fire that birthed them.

_Salamander eyes._

_Like fire in dark water._

Tina felt her heart jump out of rhythm for a moment, stuttering as she drew a shaky breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding.

Tucked into the crease that formed the intersection of pages in the book's spine, a carefully folded piece of parchment was visible. She tugged it out and pressed it open, its shimmering cerulean ink catching the firelight as she adjusted the book on her lap.

_The only sight, in this Magizoologist's humble opinion, that can match the brilliance of these Salamanders is the deep and enigmatic beauty of a particular pair of eyes. Such eyes are exceedingly rare, and can only be found at present in New York, where their owner currently resides. It is safe to say that I have been wholly and completely bewitched by her, and while I fear I have perhaps caused more trouble for her than anything else, she and her radiant eyes are never far from my thoughts. I can only hope that, in spite of my unfortunate penchant for becoming mixed up in affairs that tend to inconvenience her, someday she might regard me with as much fondness as I have for her._

Her eyes flitted over the passage once, twice - and then on the third time, Tina found that tears had suddenly sprung to them, and a lump had lodged itself in her throat.

_Oh, Newt_.

She traced the elegant, messy scrawl of his handwriting across the page with one finger, blinking away the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes. So _that_ was why he had wanted her to read the book. It was beginning to dawn on her that perhaps his hesitance hadn't been because of his own feelings, but rather because of his uncertainty regarding hers.

The sound of slippered feet on creaky stair treads startled her, and she hastily scrubbed at her damp eyes, moving the book and the note to the low coffee table in front of her so that she could stand.

"I'm terribly sorry that took so long," Newt said, brushing towel-dried hair from his forehead, but he stopped short upon seeing her. "Good heavens. Tina, is something the matter?"

She shook her head and he approached her slowly, almost cautiously, as if intending to comfort an injured beast. "It's – I'm fine," she said, but as hard as she tried to keep the emotion from her voice, an audible tremor was still present. "I just, you know…I read it," she continued, gesturing weakly at the book that lay open, along with the note, on the table. To her dismay, Newt's expression became instantly guarded, and he stopped several paces from her.

"Ah," he said simply. "I see."

An uncomfortable silence found its way between them, neither one entirely knowing what to say, until Newt, studying the broad wooden planks beneath his feet, glanced up at Tina quickly.

"Tina," he began, but faltered. He tried again: "I don't want you to feel any kind of...obligation, or—"

"—what?"

"Well, you must know that I—"

"_Newt_," she said at last, and after a moment of hesitation he met her eyes, intent. "That's not what I'm trying to say." Tina took a step toward him, and he toward her, and all of a sudden she became aware that he was much too close for the third time in the span of several short hours. And she i_wanted_/i him.

"I thought it was beautiful."

"I can understand if you – you...you did?" A flicker of hope had begun to crowd out the doubt that lingered in the deep gray-blue of his irises, and Tina chanced a tentative smile.

"I _do_," she corrected him softly. "But you don't need to hope." A faint crease appeared between his brows, and her smile only grew wider as she recalled the words in his note. "You already have all of my fondness, and then some."

There was a reverence in his face that stilled her heart as he reached out to gently brush her hair from her face, just as he had done so long before, flanked by the iron hull of a steamship and a plethora of gull cries.

"You know, your eyes – they truly are remarkable," Newt said, and Tina leaned forward, her Salamander eyes slipping shut.

His lips brushed hers gently, almost hesitantly, as if he were encountering a new creature for the first time. And maybe it was one – a new kind of beast, Tina thought, clutching at his shoulder as he pulled her closer, one hand drifting to cradle her waist. Their friendship had metamorphosed into a yet-undiscovered creature, one where there was far too much uncertain territory that she found herself longing to explore, more than anything.

When they finally drifted apart, to her surprise Newt took several faltering steps backward, the freckles dusted across his cheekbones standing out against the flush that had bloomed there.

"I – I'm so sorry," he stammered, putting a hand to his forehead. "I don't know what came over me. Tina, I—"

He hardly had time to eke out the words before she had closed the gap between them and pressed her lips firmly to his once more, swallowing whatever else he might have said with a soft, contented noise. She pulled away after several very long moments, resting her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the warm air.

"Don't apologize. Don't you dare," she whispered, aware of his hands coming up to cup her face gingerly. He leaned forward just so, and captured her lips in a heartbreakingly gentle kiss.

When he finally drew back to study her, his lopsided smile was one of quiet joy, but Tina could see the excitement shining in his blue eyes. She couldn't help but grin at him in return, and he took one of her hands in his own warm, slender one, before bringing her knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there.

"Do you know," he said softly, "I've been wanting to do that for a long time now."

"How long?" Tina laughed, threading her fingers through his.

"Don't hold this against me, but – I think it must be since I left New York, at the very least." She felt one arm wrap about her cautiously, testing the waters, and she couldn't help but lean into him. Her head settled against the crook of his neck, and Newt brought his other hand up to card gently through her hair, long fingers lingering by the curve of her ear and fleetingly against the nape of her neck. He was warm and real, and a faint earthy musk clung to him that smelled distinctly _Newt_ and sent a thrill through Tina's stomach with every inhalation. He was close, so very close, and she knew she wasn't dreaming. Not this time.

"Here I am imposing on you again, and I've barely just gotten here," she said with a weak laugh, and she felt the gentle rumble of vibrations through his chest as he echoed her humor.

"Well, you see, that's the thing," Newt said, shifting so that his chin was tucked neatly against her hair. "I find I don't mind one bit."

They lingered in the embrace for a long while, and while their slight movements were still rife with the awkwardness of two people experiencing one another's physicality for the first time, to Tina it was beyond perfect. It was _Newt_, and that was enough for now. A million and one questions still crowded her mind, but she pushed them away. There would be time, and hopefully enough of it, to talk about everything that still needed to be said.

"You're thinking," Newt observed, as if sensing the turn of her thoughts, and he withdrew so that he could look at her once more, a certain shyness still present in his actions as he took one of her hands in his.

"Probably too much," Tina said, offering him a helpless shrug. "It's an unfortunate habit."

"One I'm afraid I share." The statement lacked finality, and she could sense that he was waiting patiently for her to elaborate.

A moment of stillness fell between them, until Tina finally released a long breath. "Newt, I know there are probably...um, things we should discuss, but—"

"—I was rather hoping they could wait. At least for tonight," he said, before amending quickly: "If that's all right, of course."

"No – um, me too," Tina said, her heart fluttering at the earnestness so plainly written on his face. She bit her lip, torn between wanting to further pursue the topic and succumb to the simple joy that enfolded her thoughts at being here, so close to the man who had plagued her every waking moment since he had brushed past her all those many months before on the steps of a New York City bank. The choice was a relatively painless one, she thought, leaning into his touch as the warmth of his palm found her cheek.

"There is – there is one thing I might say, if I may." Her brows rose in question.

"If I am being perfectly honest," Newt said quietly, his blue eyes flitting up to meet hers, "I do love you, Tina. I believe I wasn't quite ready for you to know before."

Tina was taken aback by the boldness of his words. After so long, so many stolen moments and almost-somethings, to be offered his heart so openly was disarming. She felt a sudden sting at the corners of her eyes and blinked rapidly, unable to formulate a reply in the face of such unassuming sincerity.

"And that's why you put it in the book?" she asked finally with a watery smile, new tears crowding her vision.

"Yes, that's exactly why I did," he replied, looking mildly sheepish. "You know me. Words aren't my strong suit. At – at least not words that aren't in writing."

Tina reached down to give his hand a squeeze, and he folded her into a gentle embrace once more. "Well, then I'm glad you did," she said, the words muffled against his waistcoat. "Because I love you too, Newt Scamander. I really do."

_To Tina:_

_May this book offer you a comforting place to go in times of need, even when it seems as if there are none left._

_I hope you enjoy the entry on Amazonian Salamanders. I'm quite fond of them, myself._

_All my love,_

_Newt_


End file.
